This is the land the sunset washes,

Lest that should conquer me.I haven’t quite the strength nowTo break it to the Bee—I will not name it in the streetFor shops would stare at me—That one so shy—so ignorantShould have the face to die.The hillsides must not know it—Where I have rambled so—Nor tell the loving forestsThe day that I shall go—Nor lisp…

The thoughtful grave encloses—Tenderly tucking them in from frostBefore their feet are cold.Never the treasures in her nestThe cautious grave exposes,Building where schoolboy dare not look,And sportsman is not bold.This covert have all the childrenEarly aged, and often cold,Sparrow, unnoticed by the Father—Lambs for whom time had not a fold.

Tabernacle or Tomb—Or Dome of Worm—Or Porch of Gnome—Or some Elf’s Catacomb?

How long a Day I could endureThough thine attention stop not on meNor the least signal, Me assure—Wert Thou but Stranger in ungracious country—And Mine—the DoorThou paused at, for a passing bounty—No More—Accused—wert Thou—and Myself—Tribunal—Convicted—Sentenced—Ermine—not to MeHalf the Condition, thy Reverse—to follow—Just to partake—the infamy—The Tenant of the Narrow Cottage, wert Thou—Permit to beThe Housewife…

The brain has corridors surpassingMaterial place.Far safer, of a midnight meetingExternal ghost,Than an interior confrontingThat whiter host.Far safer through an Abbey gallop,The stones achase,Than, moonless, one’s own self encounterIn lonesome place.Ourself, behind ourself concealed,Should startle most;Assassin, hid in our apartment,Be horror’s least.The prudent carries a revolver,He bolts the door,O’erlooking a superior spectreMore near.

When it began, or if there wereA day when it was not.It has no future but itself,Its infinite realms containIts past, enlightened to perceiveNew periods of pain.